


Day 6: Blood/Soul Magic

by Spatzi_Schatz



Series: Monster Sheith Month 2019 [4]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alien Cultural Differences, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Blade of Marmora Keith (Voltron), Blood Bond, Galra Keith (Voltron), King Shiro (Voltron), M/M, Monster Fucker Sheith Week, Monsters, October Prompt Challenge, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 18:53:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20953262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spatzi_Schatz/pseuds/Spatzi_Schatz
Summary: The war against the Galra that's raged since before Shiro was born has finally ended, and now he finds himself sitting on a foreign throne and with an entire host of elite Galran soldiers bound to him by blood magic. Somehow, peace is far more work than war ever was.





	Day 6: Blood/Soul Magic

**Author's Note:**

> -_comes in late with lukewarm coffee_\- Ey'o! 
> 
> As you can see, I am out of clever titles and have skipped a couple days, lol. I have some content from days 4 and 5, but those prompts have decided to be difficult. On the bright side, those two days, when I do finish them, will actually be stand-alone one-shots. Unlike all these fuckers which seem determined to be previews of longer works to come. tl;dr: THERE WILL BE CAKE. Lots of cake. 
> 
> Enjoy Day 6 of [Monster Fuckers Sheith Month](https://twitter.com/monstersexsheit%22): Blood/Soul Magic! 💖

Shiro still didn’t know what to think of his new shadow. But as far as their best Galran scholar could tell--I wizened monk with one foot already in the grave whose knowledge pre-dated the war--there was nothing to be done about it. The Blade of Marmora came with the crown, and the crown had--somehow--found it way onto his head. He was still trying to puzzle out how Allura had managed that particular sleight of political hand. 

“Really, Shiro, you were the only one who made a modicum of sense” the Altean Princess said when he asked. “You are well-accomplished and highly decorated general of the Coalition, the Shiroganes were landed before the territory fell, and you’re a good leader, despite your own poor opinion of yourself.” She sniffed. 

“Plus,” she added, “it doesn’t hurt that you’re of marriageable age, and handsome to boot.” She hid a wicked smirk behind her tea cup as Shiro nearly choked on his. After he regained his breath, she patted his hand. 

“You will do splendidly, Shiro, there’s no doubt in my mind. And you will have advisors, as well as a small co-ruling council from the Coalition until reparations are complete, of which I am a member, so I won’t be far, whenever you might need a hand.” 

The idea that his cohort, the Princess and the fellow knights who had become known as “The Paladins” through the war, would be near eased his mind slightly, but for most of the mundane tasks that made up the bulk of Shiro’s day now, they were of little help, hours upon hours of debate over a civil infrastructure that had been mangled by the Galran war machine. It had been a non-stop barrage of issues since his perfunctory coronation. 

In fact, the moment the ritual completed and the crown placed on his head--the ink on the declaration not yet dry—pandemonium broke out in the audience chamber. The paladins burst into the room, Lance, Hunk, and Pidge tripping over one another in their haste. 

“What is it?” Commander Iverson barked, hand on his sword. 

All three knights snapped to attention. 

“There are Galra in the throne room!” Lance said. “They showed up out of nowhere!” 

“And you just left them there?” Allura demanded, sabre half-drawn as she turned toward them, as if intent on ousting the threat single-handed. 

“Well, see, the thing is, they haven’t done anything?” Hunk said. “They just appeared, and then they knelt in front of the throne, and they haven’t moved since. Like, at all.” 

“The Garrison Guard has them surrounded, so they aren't going anywhere,” Pidge pipped up. “But, we figured we should get you, since it’s you they probably want to talk to.” 

And so it started. 

The council as well as all his advisors followed Shiro and the Paladins to the adjacent audience chamber where one of Zarkon’s many thrones sat on a raised dais. A force of armed Galra, masked and hooded, and currently surrounded by the MFE Garrison soldiers, knelt in front of the cold stone. _ This isn’t the main throne room, or even the second largest _ , Shiro thought. _ How did they know _ this _ one? _ The Galra made no move when they entered, or even when silence fell over the room. Finally, since no one else seemed to be inclined to do anything, Shiro stepped forward. 

“Stand.” 

They all stood as a unit in one fluid movement, not one standing faster or slower than another. The Garrison soldiers stumbled back to make room for the Galra’s sudden expansion in stature, yet the Galra did not react. Did not move to take advantage of their enemy’s misstep. It was uncanny. 

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” Shiro demanded. 

A tall Galra at the head of the formation shifted into parade rest. “We are the Blade of Marmora,” he said, voice a low growl. “The Marmora clan is blood bound to Galran throne, so we are here to be bound to the new throne.” Glowing eyes of the mask met Shiro’s. “To you, Champion Shirogane.” 

The room exploded into chaos, shouts of protest and claims of deceit clamoring over demands to have the Galra soldiers imprisoned all the way to summarily executed. Through it all, the Galra did not flinch, and the glowing eyes never left Shiro’s, while _ something _\--likely the beginning of a migraine--clamored in Shiro’s head for attention. 

“Enough!” he bellowed. He turned his attention back to the Galra leader. “What happens if I reject the bond?” 

“If you reject the bond, we become _ rozviazat’ch." _ The leader paused, searching for a translation. "Untethered.”

Shiro jolted at the word, thrown back into the heat of battle, covered in blood, grime, and sweat, the body of the Crown Prince cooling in front of him, and a young Galra soldier in the same uniform as the Blades trying to press a dagger into his hands, shouting in Galra, babbling in broken Terran: _ kill me. just kill me here. please. I can’t be _ rozviazaťch _ . I’d rather be dead.. _

Shiro inhaled sharply, bringing himself back into the present, digging his nails into the flesh of his palm. He held the breath for a beat, and when he released, he decided. Did he really have any other choice? 

“Okay,” he said. “How do we do this? Is there a ritual I must perform?”

The gathered coalition representatives, his advisors, and the Paladins all clamored in their objections, but Shiro tuned them out, focused solely on the Galra leader. 

“There is no ritual. It is, or it is not,” the Galra said. “_ stará krv vie. The old blood knows. _”

“_stará krv vie, _ ” Shiro murmured. The Blade of Marmora knelt again at his feet. _ stará krv vie, _ they intoned. 

Shiro knew one thing: they knew nothing of the Galra. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come be spooky with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/tea_an_books).


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